What To Say
by Bri28
Summary: In life he used a lot of words to say almost nothing at all. In death he tried to do the opposite... but old habits die hard. This is a companion piece to It Was Always Him. *Post major character death.
1. Debts

**What to say...**

**A/N:** This is a companion piece to my other story, It Was Always Him. It's not actually 100% necessary to have read that, though. Mostly what you need to get from that story is that Tony is dead and he left letters for his teammates. Also, I can't figure out how to strikethrough words here, so when something is in italics, it's meant to be crossed out. Oh and the letter part is meant to be handwritten. I'll shut up in a sec, but first I have to thank my mum for helping me identify Kate's flowers.

* * *

Hey Probie!

If you're not drunk, you should be. Go get drunk now. Try tequila. Come back and keep reading when the words won't stay still on the page.

Look, I know I've been tough on you, but life is tough. Criminals are tough. Gibbs... well Gibbs is somewhere beyond tough. Anyway, my point is, well, I never want you to end up like I did. Since you're reading this, I'm assuming I was killed in the line of duty. Hell, I hope I was killed on the job. How embarrassing would it be to have died in a car crash – or worse of some stupid disease? Anyway, I hope you didn't have to see it. If you did – even if you didn't – know that there is no shame in nightmares. They happen to the best of cops. I ought to know. But I'm digressing again. What I'm trying to tell you is that I just want you to be the best agent possible and to stay safe. So here it is, the ultimate wisdom of Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo:

- Listen to every word that passes Gibb's lips. The man's a genius, Probie.

- Take the time to listen to at least some of Ducky's stories. Someone has to and you'll learn some interesting things.

- Hug Abby every day. The world of a federal agent can be bleak. Abby-hugs make life better.

- Listen to Kate, too. She knows what she's talking about most of the time and she'll work hard to keep you safe.

- Have a little faith in yourself. You're becoming a fine agent, Tim.

- For the love of all things holy, get yourself a girlfriend. And a better haircut. Probably it would work better if these were done in reverse order.

Well... I guess you can't really listen to Kate anymore. Do me a couple favours. Make sure the crazy Mossad chick watches your six... and take Kate some flowers from time to time. The card for her favourite flower shop is _tucked in my address book._ Sorry McGodetia (yes, I had to McGoogle that) I reorganized and since I'm pretty familiar with the flower place now, I put the card in this envelope here.

McGee, you're a good second. You've stepped up in difficult circumstances and filled the position well. However, I don't think you're ready to lead this team. I'm sorry. This isn't me trying to steal your thunder and put you down. This is actually me trying to be a good lead agent. This is me trying to keep you all safe. For the record, you don't always make it easy. But this isn't about that. You're a damn good agent, Tim, and one day you'll be a damn good lead, just not today. And hey, I'm sorry about you having to deal with the funeral and stuff. Just remember that all that stuff is for you, not me. You guys do what you want to do. Oh and I'm really sorry that you have to deal with my father. Don't listen to him, Probie. He can come to the funeral if he wants – if he can make the time –but you guys are my family, not him. Don't let him push you around. If you succeed at that you'll have done better than I ever did. _If Gibbs comes back_ Never mind. I am proud of the agent you've become, Tim. It was an honour to have you as my senior field agent.

Hey look McGee! Now that I'm gone, you can be Gibbs' second, which is obviously superior to being mine, since he's so obviously superior to me.

Okay, so maybe, I was ever-so-slightly bitter. Maybe a part of me still is. Look, it's not that I didn't want him back too – I did. Probably more than you did. I just thought maybe you guys would hesitate, even for a moment, and maybe even mention that I didn't completely screw things up. Then again, maybe you thought I did. Anyway, he's back and all is right with the world. You'll learn a lot as Gibbs' senior field agent. More than I ever could have taught you and I'm glad you'll get the opportunity.

You almost read this letter today. I should have been in that car. Hell, I was in that car until La Grenouille insisted I travel with him. How's that for a crazy twist of fate? An international arms dealer saved my life. Here's a little piece of advice for you, Probie: don't ever fall in love with your mark when you're undercover. Hell, who am I kidding? You're nowhere near that stupid, are you, McGenius? You should really find a nice girl, settle down and have some seriously probilicious progeny. I mean it Tim; you'll be a good father.

Well look who went and fucked it all up again. Not all that surprising is it? Anthony D. DiNozzo, professional screw-up. Yes kids, the "D" is for disaster. Almost as good as Uncle Jethro's second "B." Fuck. I am so shit-faced. On an aircraft carrier. And here I though killing the director was my worst career move ever. McGee, I hate to ask you this, _but if I if I can't if something happens_ Please just make Abby forgive me. I just can't take much more of this.

I'm sorry about that last part, Tim. What I meant to say is that I heard you're doing a hell of a job with your own team and I'm proud of you.

Huh. Been awhile since I've pulled this out. I guess, I was just thinking, since you've met my dad now, that you'd think I sounded harsh when I wrote about my father. Maybe I was. I don't really know anymore. _Look, he's always loved me when it was convenient, but_ funerals aren't convenient. He's never really been one for funerals. He didn't go to my mother's, so I very much doubt he'll go to mine. Don't judge him for that... and don't feel bad for me. I was twelve when I accepted that he would not be attending my funeral.

Is it weird that I feel guilty for not writing in this more often? It's not a damn journal. Think this is it Tim. I've got one of Abby's hinky feelings. We're so damn swamped with this one, so I'll have to be brief. I know, not one of my fortés. If you don't see me go down – and I pray to God you don't – don't feel like you have to come see me, like you did Kate. You don't owe me that. I mean it, Tim. I won't look pretty like Katie did. Oh and all those clichés about smelling roses and such? Listen to them. And Probie, for the love of all freaking things holy, get yourself a girlfriend.

I just realized that I never signed this until now... guess this really is the end.

It's been a pleasure, my Probilicious McGeek,

~Tony

* * *

McGee leaned his head back and closed his eyes after finishing reading the letter for the fifth time. After a moment, he glanced over to the clock. Just past five in the morning. Good; he'd have enough time. He rose and started making coffee, while rinsing out the empty liquor bottles from the night before. Hell, Tony'd never been as pretty as Kate anyway. And no matter what the words said, this was a debt he most certainly owed.

* * *

McGee checked the card again, then walked purposefully into Martha's Garden. Once inside he paused momentarily, inhaling all the different scents, then laughed to himself as he realized that he had, quite literally, just stopped to smell the flowers.

"Can I help you?" a woman's slightly bemused voice broke through McGee's thoughts.

"Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just thinking about someone," McGee brought his focus to the mid-twenties, blonde woman in front of him.

"Would you like to buy her a bouquet?" the blonde asked with a hopeful smile.

"Him," McGee corrected absently, as he wondered exactly for what he was supposed to ask. How did one select flowers for one dead teammate to give to another?

"Oh, I am so sorry, I do this all the time – I open my big mouth and in goes my foot – seriously, you'd think I'd learn, but I just don't –"

"No, no, it's okay," McGee was quick to cut off the babbling woman as he realized what his statement had implied.

"No, it's not, especially in this day and age, making assumptions like that –"

"No, really, I didn't mean it like that. I'm not gay. I was wondering about what one of my coworkers would think about what I was doing. Damn, I wish he was here – he'd be laughing his ass off," McGee sighed. "To answer your question, yes, I would like to buy a bouquet. I'm just not exactly sure what to choose. Um, how long have you worked here?"

"A couple years. Is that important to which flowers you want?" the woman's face plainly showed her confusion.

"Uh, not exactly. It's just, well, a woman I used to work with, Kate, Caitlin Todd, she used to like this place and I wondered which flowers she liked..."

The blonde woman shook her head and opened her mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted by the entrance of a middle-aged brunette.

"You're a cop? I remember Kate; she was some kind of cop, right? She used to come in all the time, said flowers brightened up her apartment and reminded her of life when she spent so much time around death. I'm not sure she had a favourite, though... she seemed to pick whatever struck her fancy that day. My goodness, she's been dead for years, now, though, hasn't she?"

McGee swallowed. "Yeah, she has been." Well now he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what Kate would have liked... but maybe Tony had. He had said – written – that he was quite familiar with the little flower shop and, in McGee's experience, women tended to remember Tony DiNozzo.

"Do either of you remember a Tony DiNozzo, tall, dark hair, good looking..." McGee trailed off as both women started nodding enthusiastically. Looks like Tony had worked his charm here, true to form.

"Sure, we know Tony," the older woman confirmed. "He's in here all the time."

"Yeah," the blonde agreed. "His wife sure is a lucky woman."

"His wife," McGee repeated, confused that Tony would allow two attractive women to believe he was married. That didn't sound like Tony, but McGee had said his full name and both women had been quick to think of him.

"Yes, Caidy, I believe her name is. Tony buys her flowers often," the brunette elaborated.

"Yeah," the younger woman continued, "but not really on a set schedule or anything: he says some days he just needs to buy her flowers. The weird thing is that it never sounds like they're fighting – we get a lot of that – but more like he just wants to do something nice for her."

"I'm sorry," the other woman interjected. "What, exactly, does all this have to do with you purchasing flowers?"

McGee shook his head as if to clear it. "Katie," he murmured to himself. "Tony always was the only one who got away with calling her that." He cleared his throat. "I'm getting to the flowers, really. Did Tony have any particular ones he bought?"

The brunette frowned. "Maybe. Are you investigating him? Did buying flowers suddenly become some indication of guilt?"

"No, no. I'm not here on official business. It's just that Tony's" McGee paused. "Tony was my partner." Seeing the expression flit across the younger woman's face, he elaborated. "At NC- well, he was a cop. Like me. Like Kate. We all worked together once. And, uh, he... died, line of duty, this week."

Both women gasped. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry," the older one offered. "So... the flowers? You'd like to take some to his wife?"

It would have been easy to agree and just buy the flowers, but McGee felt compelled to explain the truth to them. "No. Tony... Tony was never married. His wife that he talked about, Katie? He was actually talking about Kate. He took the flowers to where she died, since her grave is in Indiana. Before he died, he, um, he asked me to keep bringing her flowers."

The three stood in silence for a moment, before the blonde spoke. "Pink carnations. He liked it if we had pink carnations. And pink gerbera daisies, I think."

"Yes, that's right," the brunette agreed. "His favourite arrangement was pink carnations, pink and orange gerbera daisies and... something purple... larkspur. Purple larkspur. He said that was the first bouquet he ever gave her, but if they were co-workers...?"

The memory came flooding back to McGee. He grinned. "On this one case, well actually it was most of the time, but especially this one case, Tony drove Kate absolutely crazy and put his toe a little too far over the line, so he bought her flowers as an apology. I kinda remember them. I definitely remember them making Kate happy. I'd like some of those please."

Both women smiled. "Certainly."

* * *

McGee walked slowly onto the roof, thankful for the rain that had washed the blood away. Looking around he spotted the wilted remains of Tony's last bouquet and moved to that spot, figuring that Tony likely had placed them where Kate had died.

He swallowed. "Hey Kate. These are from Tony... you know, he called you his wife. You owe me my twenty bucks back."

* * *

There we have it. As always, thanks for reading and if you have an opinion you'd like to share with the class - good, bad, ugly - I'd love to hear it :)


	2. Regrets

**Regrets**

Hey you,

I, um, I'm sorry. Really, really, really sorry. This should be longer. All the others are longer. Admittedly, they were written sporadically, over a much longer period of time, but this still shouldn't be as short as it is. But I know you'll understand. That's what you do. I'm just so sorry for so many things. I don't know what to say, where to start. I'm sorry that I never told you that this would happen. Honestly, there have been many days that I've been surprised that it didn't happen sooner. I've always known that my death would not be a natural one. I was surprised to reach thirty; if I'd have reached forty I'd probably have died simply from shock. I am so sorry that I didn't ever try to explain this, but, for a time, my time with you, I almost believed that I could survive my profession – and my personality. That's why I never brought it up and that's why I'm only writing this now. Mostly I'm sorry that we didn't have more time. You know I don't usually have trouble finding words, but the rights ones just aren't here and I don't have the time to find them. Our short relationship has been the longest, most honest romantic relationship I've ever had. I guess what I am trying to say is that I love you, completely and truthfully. And I know you love me, Anthony D. DiNozzo. That means more than I can ever tell you.

Goodbye Beautiful, take care of yourself,

~ Anthony

P.S. Ask Gibbs about the box.

* * *

Her long lashes clung together, bound by the salty tears that ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin, falling to her blood-red cotton sundress. Not the traditional funeral garb, but he loved it on her; how it softly skimmed her petite frame. Carefully, she placed the letter and rose petals back in the scented enveloped. She inhaled the smell. It was his. She smiled, though the tears continued to flow. He knew how she loved his scent. On the envelope it differed slightly from how it smelled on his body, but she would take what she could get. She leafed through the other envelopes, each unique and suited to its addressee. She gently placed each back in the simple wooden box. It was clearly handmade and with less skill than that of any of Gibbs' pieces. A sob escaped as she clutched the box Anthony had apparently crafted. The pain was almost physical, despite the fact that his death barely seemed real. As if, if she could just get through all the details, the funeral, the will, going through his things, then everything would go back to normal. And Anthony was her normal. It was completely irrational, so much so that it almost scared her, but she couldn't seem to banish the thought. Maybe because she wasn't sure she wanted to. But she'd never been one to run from reality and she wouldn't become one now. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she shook her head, wiped her cheeks and collected herself. Holding the box tightly, but gently, she walked out to the living room where Abby sat surrounded by DVDs and tissues.

"Abby..." The goth turned. "I've got something you should see."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you again to everyone who read, reviewed, favourited etc. the first chapter – you're all very encouraging and you make me happy. Oh, and special thanks to Rubywolf because you reviewed anonymously, so I couldn't respond personally (if someone sent a signed review and didn't get a personal note of thanks then please send me a virtual Gibbs slap, so that I can send both a thank you and an apology – my internet access is spotty right now, so sometimes I think I've done something when I really haven't, even if it's important... a dear friend of mine emailed me on Wednesday and I'm just replying now, early Sunday morning... you see – I'm terrible and now rambling; I'll try to return to point) and also very special thanks to annsan who left a lovely review – the first to this story – and gave me the idea to explain how the letters were found.

As always, thanks so much for reading!

P.S. - Sorry this is so short. I didn't really want to define my little character too much - original characters usually bug me as love interests, but at the same time the only way I see Tony in a serious relationship is if he's with someone new, not from NCIS. And I really wanted Tony to have a non-international-arms-dealer-involving relationship before his death. Apologies to TIVA fans - I am not one of you, but I promise the Ziva chapter will still be kind to her.


End file.
